Mors Ultima Ratio
by Curta
Summary: Will begins the process of moving on from what Hannibal has done to him. Everyone else does, too.
1. Excitare

In the first weeks after Hannibal Lecter nearly killed him, Will Graham tried desperately to finish what he had started.

When he regained consciousness for the first time his thoughts were thick and hazy. The first thing he saw was the fear etched in Abigail's face when she saw him. She was in front of him there. He could have saved her there. If he had only thought to turn around, to tell her to run, even to not have shown up at all. He didn't. And knowing that he didn't burned through him more than the memory of the knife in his gut. He saw the white walls of the hospital and became acutely aware of the needles stuck in his arms. His throat was on fire and he assumed there were tubes inside him and that they were connected. So he yanked them out of his arm; but it didn't work and such intense pain overtook him that he passed out before the nurse could enter the room.

His second attempt was a week later, after he had gone through some rehabilitation and was remembering how to speak and breathe and walk. That morning his given goal was to walk the entirety of the ward's hallway and back-about 30 feet. Before helping him the nurse had to leave suddenly, so Will was left alone. By the time he made his way to the window he heard footsteps, and by the time he opened the window there were bodies in the room and he craned his neck out and felt the air but he was already being restrained. He flailed and kicked and screamed and accidentally scratched some unlucky assistant in the face. They shot him with thorazine and stuck him in the psych ward for a few days. He quite liked the thorazine; it was, he imagined, the closest way to death he would get while he was still alive.

A few days after that they sent him home with several weeks' worth of pain pills and anxiety medication after he was not able to to speak to the hospital psychiatrist without convulsing into sobs every other sentence. Jack and Alana were still in the hospital, so Margot Verger drove him home. They did not talk much, or if they did he did not recall it.

That night was his third attempt. He took every pill they sent home with him. He passed out on the couch; when he awoke hours later his breaths were heavy and slow but he could tell they were not going to stay that way.

Then he was sitting up, clutching a glass of water, staring into the calm blue eyes of Margot Verger, whose painted lips were moving with easy precision.

"I didn't want to live anymore after what my brother did," she said, "but the feeling passed."

Hearing his own voice startled him. "I don't think this will pass."

"I didn't either," she said. "Now I'm perfectly content."

"Mason got what he deserved."

"Funnily enough, I don't think that's what caused it. Although it was nice."

Will grunted in response and looked down. His hands were shaking.

"When Hannibal gets what you think he deserves, you'll feel at peace. Peace and contentedness are two different things."

"Knowing he can't hurt anyone else doesn't negate all the people he did hurt."

"Certainly not." She rose from the chair and turned her watch so as to read its face. "You don't have to get even to feel enough again, Will. It's not a necessity."

Will began to say something but stopped.

"Well, if you need anything, just give me a call. Feel free even if you don't."

She left. He was relieved that she respected him enough to leave him be.


	2. Ientare

Margot visited Will the following morning. She found him buried under the covers on the couch; the door was unlocked.

"Have you eaten anything yet?" she asked, knowing fully well he hadn't.

"No," he answered, voice raspy from lack of use.

"Why don't we go get breakfast?"

He wanted to say no, but couldn't. "I'll get dressed."

His chest was constantly sore, but when he stretched or moved his arms for too long he would feel a violent pang. He made it to his room, away from Margot's already averted gaze, and wriggled out of his pants and managed to unbutton the top half of his shirt before letting out a half controlled cry. She appeared in the doorway, he said he was fine, and she nodded and left his line of sight. But when he thrust his arms back in an effort to force it off, pain shot from his shoulders to his stomach where it felt ruptured by sharp explosive heat and tearing and he could feel the knife there, burning, at which point he was in tears and Margot had appeared there. She removed his shirt as he turned from her.

"I've seen you naked before," she said.

"Not like this."

She was curious, and when she craned her neck forward he didn't turn further away. She brought her hand up to cover her gasp when she saw the scar. It began at his lower waist and snaked around his middle torso until ending in a straight, sharp edge. It was the color of blood and it was deep.

"It's worse than mine," she said with a wry smile.

"Don't know about that." He tried to smile.

She helped him dress. He was wearing khaki and plaid, just like he was wearing the first week he met Hannibal. He was going to wear one of his button-up shirts, but they reminded him of what he wore during his last appointments with Hannibal. He could have worn one of his t-shirts, but they reminded him of that night he thought he killed Abigail, when he was with Hannibal. Will had the desire to burn his wardrobe in its entirety.

"I want new clothes," he declared, sitting at the edge of his bed.

"I'll get you a personal shopper."

"I didn't mean-"

"I've got plenty of money to burn," she said reassuringly.  
"What time is it?" It would hurt to turn and look at the clock to his far right, so Margot did.

"It's nine."

Will grimaced. "Everywhere'll be crowded."

She nodded. "We can go to my place if you want." Seeing his face, she added, "You don't have to see Mason."

He nodded and she helped him to the car and drove. It was a thirty minute ride to her home. Will watched the viridescence fade into gravel gray and back to green again. He had been to it before, but the mansion was breathtaking still; how anyone could live in there and not get lost or lonely was beyond him, but he didn't care to know how. He noticed that the front door was a different color. She saw him looking at it. "I always wanted it to be red. Mason never liked red."

She got out of the car and helped him out. "We'll go through the stable," she said. "Feel free to ride anytime," she said, the issue of his recovery stated implicitly.

"Thanks."

Once they entered the main part of the building, she led him to what appeared as a lavish dining hall, saying something in passing to members of her hired help on the way to the table.

"Eggs, bacon, toast-anything else?"

"No, thanks," said Will. He wasn't hungry.

They talked until the food came.

"I take it you're in a bit of pain?"

"Is it obvious?" He realized his hand was hovering over his stomach and he put it in his lap.

"I hope you took something over-the-counter, at least?"

He shook his head.

"I can have someone write you a script," she said, looking him in the eyes. "You'll have to pick them up a few at a time, of course."

"That's-it's okay. It's fine."

"You sure?"

The food came on silver platters. The eggs made Will think of the first time he and Hannibal ate together, so he did not have any eggs. The bacon was greasy and made his stomach churn, but the toast was not too dry and with some butter it was actually quite good. Will did not look well so during the course of their meal Margot stuck to an exchange of pleasantries: the weather, his plans, how he came to own so many dogs.

After their plates were taken away she guided him to the grand foyer; not the one with the eel wrenching around under the floor, but the other one, that looked like it was designed by Margot herself, with shiny leather furniture and white and gold-striped walls. She rested herself on the couch and told him to sit beside her.

"I knew something was strange about Hannibal Lecter, but he seemed nice enough to me."

"He seemed nice enough to me, too," Will said with a sardonic smirk, "up until he gutted me."

"He left Mason for me. I think he wanted me to kill him, but I haven't yet." She paused. "It was a thoughtful gesture."

"He's nice unless you pose a threat." Will closed his eyes and thought. "Even if you pose a threat. He's nice until the threat is about to be realized."

"If you consider manipulation nice," said Margot.

"How much of it was manipulation and how much of it was a nudge in the right direction?"

"Nudging is manipulation. Subtle manipulation is manipulation."

"You don't sound angry."

"I'm not," she said. "_You_ don't sound angry."

"I'm not."

"I think you have a right to be."

"Maybe I'm still in shock."

"Maybe so." Margot sat up and crossed her legs. "When you get angry-" she tilted her head to the left, toward the stables "-I recommend going for a ride. It's very cathartic."

"I'll try it," Will said politely. He was not thinking about coping with the inevitability of the future when he could not imagine the rest of the day.

Margot asked him if he liked movies, and he said he did not. He was feeling tired. He fell asleep there on Margot's couch.


	3. Bibere

Will spent the next few days at Margot's, going home only long enough to feed his dogs. She noticed his discomfort and suggested buying a new house.

Margot had had Mason rewrite the will and transfer complete ownership of the plant and its products to her. She had begun her plans to overhaul the slaughtering process in favor of a more humane one.

"Happy pigs taste better," she told an uncomfortable Will, "but Mason never got around to it."

Will helped her with the spreadsheets.

"I was never any good at math," he said.

"I've always liked it," Margot responded. "Finding those answers myself feels comforting."

He shrugged; the addition and subtraction took all his focus. For an hour he occupied himself with simple operations, then Margot said, "Have you seen any of them?"

It was obvious to him who she meant.

"No," he said. "I doubt they can have visitors." He shuddered and felt his pulse quicken and he began to shake. "I didn't see Jack, but Alana-she looked bad. Really bad." He took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm surprised she's alive."

"Alana…Bloom, was it?" Margot said. "I wonder if she would see me."

Will shrugged. He went back to the spreadsheets. They did that for a while, then Margot said she was going to some store and asked Will if he wanted to accompany her. He did not. When she was gone he turned on the television; talk shows and mysteries were the only genres that aired in the morning. He stuck to the talk shows and asked one of those scurrying around the place to please bring him something to drink. While she was gone he fiddled with the remote and sipped from his bottomless glass.

Margot was back in a few hours. She had gone to that high-end boutique just outside of city limits, bought herself a nice dress and a shirt she thought Will might like. He could try it on later. She also swung by the hospital and introduced herself to Alana Bloom, who was delighted to see someone who wasn't an orderly. She said she hadn't been out of her bed in what felt like weeks.

"She's absolutely beautiful," said Margot. "Smart, too. I can't imagine her getting-"

"I couldn't either," Will interrupted. "Well, we all were."

"You made it sound like she was dying. She looked very well."

Will felt warmth come over his body in waves. "Thank god."

"She wants to see you when she gets out."

He heard a foreign and sloppy laugh that he supposed was his own. "She does?"

"I told her you were recovering on schedule. She was glad."

He felt tears in his eyes but he blinked them back.

"Didn't...You didn't..." He changed his mind. "You didn't happen to see Jack, too, did you?"

She shook his head.

"Hope he's alive."

"I saw his name on the roster. I snuck a peek."

Margot made a mental note of Will's face and changed the subject. "It's past lunch time. Did you eat anything?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Then, do you mind if I-"

"Not at all." Manners, he thought, were not something he had ever really learned, but the Vergers were probably militant about it.

There was a butler, Will noticed, that Margot seemed to like more than all the others, and it was to him that she gave her luncheon request. Some others, whose faces he was beginning to recognize, kept him supplied with steady streams of liquor and water, which she did not notice. It seemed to him that she was very distracted by something, but he didn't inquire what it was.

Margot and Will moved into that lavish dining hall to eat. Each time Will moved into it, he could swear it was the first time he was there; the pristine floors, the shining silver, the sparkling chandelier all the contributed to some bright burst of light that toyed with his senses. It was so impressive, too impressive not to elicit continual awe; yet there Margot stood, looking completely unaffected.

"You get used to this?" he muttered incredulously. If he didn't know better, he'd be jealous.

"After a while," she replied coolly. There was some faraway look in her eyes. Yesterday she had seemed so focused.

They had made enough food for a small family, and Will felt like he should eat. He ate clumsily; it had been a while since he'd had meat that required a special knife to be cut. He tried no to think of how similar these fanciful meals were to those he'd had at Hannibal's, but he felt a bit sick all the same. His throat was suddenly dry and he drank the water before him greedily, spilling some on his shirt in the haste. He dabbed at it with a napkin.

After lunch came dessert. Glasses had been refilled and empty plates replaced in what seemed to him the blink of an eye; this made it impossible to recall how much of anything he had actually had, which made it easier to have more. He smiled to himself as he wondered how Margot, and Mason for that matter, kept their figures so slim when all this was so readily available; such material restraint seemed impossible to him. Then he remembered he had thought of Mason and then he remembered that night and he went to lay his swimming head on the couch. Margot sat beside him and silently they watched some crime show about some murder or another; he wasn't really paying attention. But then a gruesome picture of a destroyed corpse came on screen and he his perpetual nausea magnified, and the room started spinning and he felt burning bile leave his stomach with a cringe and a groan. He had ruined his shirt and it was all over the floor.

"I am so sorry," he said, over and over again, tripping over his tongue and not looking in her direction. She sighed quietly and helped him remove his shirt, then she helped him to some room, draping him around her small shoulders; she lowered him to some bed, and he felt hot and exhausted and embarrassed, but more tired than embarrassed.

"God, I'm sorry," he moaned with his eyes closed.

"It's fine," she said. Her voice was calm and soothing, although it didn't hold a candle to Alana's, he thought. "Let's get you changed."

"What, this isn't doing it for you?" He laughed awkwardly and looked down at his bare chest. He hadn't exercised in two weeks, at least. He caught a glimpse of his scar and looked away.

"You-"

Will couldn't make out the tone of her voice. "I know," he said, trying to rectify himself, "parts and proclivities."

She smiled.

"I can't imagine how frustrating it is," he said, rambling on. "I mean it's, for me, it's hard enough. I can't imagine..."

"I met someone today, actually."

"Oh?" He watched her go over to the drawer. "It's not Alana is it?"

"I wish," she said, and they both laughed.

"Her name is Judy," Margot said, unsure if Will was paying attention. "I've been going to that store every few days for a month now and I finally plucked up the courage today."

Will was so impressed that he was speechless.

Margot held two shirts in front of him. "Which one?"


	4. Colloqui

Will apologized profusely to Margot the next morning, but she insisted it was alright. He continued to spend the days at her home, helping her with her business plans. His life was not moving but hers was, and he felt less lethargic when he was part of it. She had a date that Friday, and left him alone then, and he could drive at that point so while she was gone he took himself home to feed the dogs. He was too tired to walk them. He looked in the corner of his living room and saw Mason there, with Hannibal beside him; disturbed, he rushed back to the car and to Margot's. Thankfully he remembered which doors did not lead to Mason; he went through one of them, told one of the butlers to make him a drink (a double), and sat in the foyer and looked outside.

The trees were becoming dotted with leaves, more colorful than he had ever noticed; the outside was changing without him and it made him uncomfortable. The sky was a wan blue even though it was noon; there were no birds chirping and there was no sound at all except for the scurrying of the servants. Suddenly one of them that he did not recognize tapped him on the shoulder.

"Mr. Graham, sir? Mr. Verger requests your company."

He felt his chest tighten. "N-Now?"

"Yes, sir."

He tried to steady his breathing. "Where?"

"Mr. Verger is upstairs, sir. I can accompany you."

"Come back in a few minutes," Will said. He had his drink and one more and then the man came back and Will followed him into that dark and quiet room and up the staircase until he found Mason Verger, who was sitting upright in his bed. Will wasn't quite sure how to look at him, but he looked into the eyes.

"Hello, Will." The animated voice that came from the unmoving lips was so bizarre that he could hardly focus.

"Great to see you. Great to see you. How are you?"

"I'm-I'm fine."

"Good. Glad to hear it. Have you been enjoying your stay here?"

Will noticed there was a chair in front of him and he sat down. "Yes."

"Good to hear. It's crazy all that money can buy, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"Margot said you'd been helping her with her, uh, renovation plans."

He nodded again, wondering how often she talked to him.

"Has she been paying you? She ought to be."

He shook his head. "There's no need."

"Oh, don't be silly now. There's always a need."

"What do you want?" said Will.

"Straight to the point, are we, Mr. Graham?" Verger paused. "I want to do a certain-a certain business transaction with you."

Will waited for him to continue.

"I don't hold any ill will toward you, Mr. Graham. I think you should know I did at one point, but forgive and forget, that's what I always say."

"You were going to kill me."

"Forgive and forget, Mr. Graham. Anyway, it occurred to me that, well, the one person I can't forget is Doctor Lecter, and I assume you can't either. But he's rendered me somewhat useless, you see, and beyond that, you know him better than I do, so-I wondered if we couldn't reach some sort of agreement-"

"I don't want anything to do with Hannibal Lecter," said Will, feeling his heartbeat quicken.

"Understandable," said Mason. "Very understandable. I suppose ten million wouldn't change your mind?"

"That's Margot's money," said Will through gritted teeth.

"Legally, it may still be mine, as a matter of fact," said Verger. "Even so, I have quite a bit-quite a bit in stocks that she doesn't know about."

Will would tell her.

"Suppose that's not enough, is it? How about a hundred million?"

"Is that upon successful capture?"

"For the full amount, yes," Verger mused. "It'd be cumulative. I'd give you so much per month as a base, with more based on involvement."

"You've really thought this out."

"I have. I have. It's rather important to me, Mr. Graham."

"I'm not interested," Will said.

"Well, if you change your mind," he said, "you know where to find me."

Mason said Will could leave now if he wanted, so he did, and descended slowly down the staircase. Will had one of the servants named Taylor, with whom he was most familiar, make him one last drink; then he went to the couch and waited for Margot to come back. Taylor brought him a newspaper so he read that in the meantime.

Margot came in some time later with a large smile on her face.

"Have a nice time?" Will said.

"Did I," said Margot. "I want to marry that girl."

Will smiled. "Really."

She sat beside him, the skirt of her dress crinkling lightly. "What did you do all morning?"

"Not much," he said. He saw her looking at his lips and turned away. "What?"

She shrugged and turned her head to the side. "I think you should go looking for houses today."

He grinned. "Trying to kick me out?"

"No, you're welcome any time. But you need your own place."

"I have-"

"-a place that you can stand to be in for more than five minutes."

It wasn't the house or the memories that lived there, necessarily; it was the loneliness that spooked him more than anything else. "I don't think I need a new house," he said. "I just have to get used to it again."

"If it were me," said Margot, "I'd start fresh."

"You didn't."

"I redecorated."


	5. Movere

The next day Margot went with Will to a furniture store; he went through it in a sort of daze, with the occasional something that elicited absolutely no response from him caught his eye-Margot would take note of it. He still tired easily, so after a few hours he wanted to leave and they did. The furniture would be shipped to his home and arrive in a few days. He would repaint the house as well, at some point.

"How are you feeling, Will?" said Margot.

"Not so bad," said Will, but it was a lie and she knew it.

Those few days before the furniture arrived were days Will spent in the Vergers' home forlornly. He would look around, hoping to save all that was in front of him somewhere deep and strong in memory; he made sure to thank the servants for every drink they brought him, Taylor in particular.

It wasn't so much that Will was being kicked out, for Margot had reminded him on numerous occasions that he could come by whenever he wanted, as it was that she realized her form of help had devolved into coddling.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do, now?"

"No," said Will. "I don't want to work for the FBI anymore."

"Didn't you say you liked to fish?"

"Can't make a living doing that," he said, looking down.

When Margot got the call that the furniture was to arrive that morning she went with Will to his home, as did a few of the stronger of her help, to aid with unpacking and assembly. First they had to get all of the old furniture out.

"What do you want to do with it?" said Margot, looking at him intently.

"Just-just put it at the curb," he said. "Someone else will pick it up then."

That day was spent moving the furniture in, and the next two were spent painting. When it was over Margot took him out drinking to celebrate, per his request; it was the first time she had heard him request something social, so she gladly obliged. It was not a good evening: the barkeep was slow, and Will didn't know his limit, it seemed. He didn't keep track of all he had consumed, and after a few hours Margot called him a cab and called it a night.

When Will woke up the next morning, hungover and alone, he felt himself crushed under morbid anxiety, wondering if this was to be his future. At least he hadn't had any nightmares.

Margot came over the next day, and he gladly listened to all that she said. She'd had another date with Judy, and was still very much struck by her. Will wondered if he would ever feel that way.

"You should get a job," Margot said to him. "It'd give you something to do."

How she knew he had spent yesterday in its entirety attempting to sleep, he didn't know. "I guess so."

"I'm thinking about expanding," said Margot. "Buying some offices off the main property."

The way she and Mason both spoke of their plans with a cool and assured excitement made him uncomfortable.

"What would I do there?" said Will.

"Whatever you want," she said. "You could keep doing spreadsheets-putting them in the computer. Or you could join advertising. Or-"

Will stopped listening. The prospect of being accountable for anything other than himself frightened him.

"I'll think about it," he said quietly.


	6. Tenēre

A/N: Thanks for reading and please review! I appreciate criticism.

* * *

Over the next few days Will decided not to drink alcohol ever again, so he spent his time sleeping instead. He saw tears and blood and the dying faces of the people he loved each time he closed his eyes. Margot was busy with dates and business plans, but she did call him each day, which he appreciated. A week after he had moved back into his home he received an unexpected call. His phone buzzed and he didn't recognize the number on the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Will." It was Alana's voice. Will felt his chest tighten and his face was hot.

"Oh, Alana." He tried to find his voice. "Hi."

Her voice was clear and bright. "How are you?"

"I-I'm fine," he said. "And you? Are you-? Have you-?"

"I left the hospital a few days ago," she said. "I'd like to see you."

"Ah-" He cleared his throat. "T-Today?"

"If you could."

"Sure." He felt dizzy. "Sure, where?"

"My house. You know the address?"

"Yeah, uh-when?"

"Whenever it's good for you."

"Give me an hour and I'll be there," he said.

He showered and dressed and took some time to calm himself.

He knew what to expect when he saw that a ramp had been put up next to the stairs, but he had to bite his lip and blink his eyes a few times so as not to cry when she answered the door. She looked frail; her cheeks were sunken and though she smiled here eyes lacked their usual light. She motioned for him to sit on her black leather couch and he sat and took a few deep breaths as she made her way to a space across from him. The wheels creaked a little. He got one good look at her before bursting into tears.

"I'm so sorry Alana. I'm so sorry."

He tried to steady his breaths and wipe his eyes but each time he looked at her sobs wrenched themselves from his throat and he tried to cover his eyes with his shaking hand. Finally he calmed down enough to speak.

"So it's...?"

"I'm paralyzed from the waist down for the most part," she said calmly.

Will took deep breaths.

"I can still have sex," she said with a small smile.

"Why would anyone ever want to again," said Will, trying to smile.

He and Alana locked eyes and Will was the first to look away.

"It's not fair," Will said shakily. He wished desperately that he could trade places with her and felt the rush of rage run hot through his veins; then he felt the crushing wave of helplessness. "I'm so sorry, Alana."

He looked at her and saw nothing in her face but concern. He had never felt so ashamed in his life. "I'm so sorry."

From the corner of his eye he saw her shrug.

"At least I'm alive."

Was that the metric now? Comfort and health were just bonuses-is that all life would be now?

"I mean it, Will. I'm not angry." He watched her think. "Maybe I am, a little. But not at you."

It had never occurred to Will to seek out retribution, but he was tempted now. "Have you talked to Jack?"

"At the hospital," she said. "He's going to retire, but he says he wants to catch Hannibal first."

"Are you going to-help?"

Alana shook her head. "I haven't ruled it out completely, but right now I just want to move on. Finding him wouldn't be closure to me."

"Finding him dead would be closure to me," Will muttered.

Alana looked at him strangely, then said, "How are things with you, Will? I met Margot Verger. She said you were spending some time with her."

"Yeah, I was," Will said, looking down.

"She seems nice."

"She-she is," said Will. "She's got a few screws lose."

"Don't we all," Alana said, her voice thick with some quality Will had never heard before.

He nodded.

They spoke for the next hour about small, inconsequential things. Conversation that usually bored him was suddenly so soothing and he hated when it was time to leave; but it was lunchtime, then, and he didn't want to impose.

When he arrived home he saw Margot's car parked outside and she was sitting on his new couch. He must've given her a key and forgotten about it, he thought.

"Hello."

"I went to go see Alana," said Will, sitting beside her.

"How was that?"

"Not so bad," he said.

"I wanted to talk with you," said Margot, turning her head to look at him. "Did you ever forgive me for-" she paused and licked her lips "-tricking you?"

Will nodded.

"Everything I did was in the name of survival," she said.

"I'm not angry with you, Margot," Will said.

She looked at him and her eyes were wide.

"Margot, did Mason talk to you today?"

She shook her head.

Will felt his breathing quicken. "Did you kill your brother?"

"Oh, no," she said slowly. "He has bodyguards now."

She looked troubled. "When Mason was paralyzed I thought things would get so much easier," she said, "but it's almost like they're the same."

"Did he threaten you?"

"Not with my life," she answered.

"I can-"

"I don't need your help," she said, "just your support. I know you have problems of your own."

"I don't mind other problems," Will said. "Problems are good distractions."


	7. Dēpōnere

Margot spent the night at Will's house; she slept on his bed and he on his couch. He didn't have much food, so when a nightmare woke him very early in the morning he quietly went to get some. It was astounding how many stores were open 24 hours a day.

He went back and lay down; he wasn't able to sleep. He got up at 6 and Margot was already awake and fixing breakfast.

"Oh-I was going to-"

"You can get it next time."

They ate quietly and Margot noted that Will looked less sick than when they first ate together. Will noticed she had that faraway look in her eyes again. After breakfast they spoke about Mason in more detail.

"He has some people on his side," she said. "Doctors, lawyers, help of his own-not that I mind." She pursed her lips. "If he does take the company back, I'll just do something else.

"But he won't leave me alone," she said. "That's what's bothering me. I could leave, but I like it here."

"What does he say to you, Margot?"

"Well, _now_," she said, "somehow he found out about Judy, and he's threatening to tell her everything."

"What's 'everything?'"

"Judy's-she's not very well-to-do. She grew up in the country. I don't want her to be intimidated."

"Surely she knows who you are."

"I-" she paused "-sidestepped my involvement with the family. It wasn't exactly a lie."

"It's not good to build on a false foundation."

Margot rose her eyes and looked at him with a sharp gaze. "So a pretty girl comes into your life and the first thing you tell her is, 'I used to think about killing people for a living.' " She smiled. "I don't count."

"No. But-"

"It's the same sort of thing," she said. "Besides that, I'm worried he'll hurt her. I should really be with her right now."

"What could he do?"

"It's not him so much as his money."

"So take it away."

"I can't," she said, "yet. At least I don't think I can."

There was a lull in the conversation. "How are you holding up?"

"Well enough," he said.

"How's your sleep?"

"I'm not getting much."

"Have you thought about seeing a therapist?"

Will shook his head. "How could you?" He paused. "You had him, too."

She shrugged. "And the odds of any others being like him are practically zero."

Will looked away. "The odds of meeting someone like him were practically zero. And yet-"

"Then the odds of meeting two like him are impossible."

Will shrugged. "The odds aren't ever in my favor."

"You can _change_ that," she said.

He shrugged again. They spoke about the new office she was planning on buying, and then she left for Judy's.

Will felt nervous when he was alone. Without anyone or anything to distract his thoughts they inevitably wandered to that night, with an indelible image of it that glued itself to the walls of his mind; that bloodstained shirt and the the dark red blood that poured out of her pale neck in violent spurts. She wasn't there now to trigger the memory but he would never forget. When he closed his eyes he saw the hate and malice in Hannibal's and he shuddered. He was panicking now, and his eyes darted desperately around the place looking for some comfort to seize, but he found nothing and resigned himself to curling up on the couch until the shaking stopped.

Later he received the second in the line of unexpected phone calls.

"Hello?" His voice was still shaky.

"Am I speaking to Mr. Graham?"

He recognized the calm and low tone almost instantly. "Yes, and this is-"

"Dr. DuMaurier. You were on my mind. I wanted to know how you were-" she paused "-coping."

"Um," he began, "I'm-managing."

"Good to know," she said.

Will took deep breaths and exhaled slowly. "Hannibal-he's still out there," he said. "I hope you're somewhere safe."

"I am," she answered. There was a pause. "I want to do something for you if you will let me. I'd like to offer you my services."

"Counseling?" Will cringed.

"Over the phone, of course."

Will was not entirely paying attention to his responses anymore. DuMaurier said that they could make an appointment later and hung up.

Will thought that evening of Jack; the following morning he gathered his nerve and drove out to the hospital to visit him, only to find that he had been released several days ago.

"Do you know where he went?"

The receptionist shook his head.

Will went back home and called Alana, and after talking for a few minutes he asked if she knew where Jack was. She gave him Jack's number. He felt suddenly daunted by the piece of paper in his hand and he decided to sleep.


	8. Labāre

Seeing Alana had awoken in Will some new and inspiring energy, but by now it had worn out entirely, leaving him aching and tired. He stayed in his bed until Margot dropped by, and they had lunch together and then he was alone again. He was sorely tempted to go up to the corner store and buy a fifth of something but he decided against it.

Alana called him later on and asked him if he wanted to get dinner. He would have offered to pick her up but he wasn't sure what to do, and he didn't want to ask for fear of insulting her, so they met at the nice restaurant that he realized he probably could not afford. He felt his stomach tighten and his eyes got misty when he first saw her, but other than that he remained relatively composed.

They sat and he ordered a drink and some pasta. They spoke of pleasantries and vague plans and then she looked at him and she resonated with the deliberateness that she so often possessed.

"Did you talk to Jack?"

"Not yet," said Will, clearing his throat.

"We talked yesterday evening for a minute," she said. "He's starting back tomorrow."

"Working?" Will was wide-eyed. "That's-that's impressive."

"Makes me feel lazy," Alana said with a small smile.

"Me too," said Will, taking a sip of his drink.

"Are you thinking of coming back to the FBI?"

"I know _you're_ not," he said.

"I might, later," she said. "Up until this it was the best job I ever had."

Will shrugged, flagged a waiter down and ordered another drink. "I've been thinking about it."

"Have you been thinking about Hannibal?"

Will felt his pulse quicken. "Yeah," he said. "Frequently."

Alana's face looked sad and her eyes changed. "Yeah."

"Us both?"

"Are you thinking of looking for him?"

Will shook his head. "No. Jack'll ask me though."

The food came. While they ate they spoke of the past, present, and future. The waiters refilled Will's glass a few times; when they finished eating he insisted on ordering dessert. He felt much less nervous than he had at the beginning of the night.

"Are you doing okay, Will?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "All things considered."

She looked concerned. "What are you going to do now, Will?"

"Everyone's always asking," he muttered. "_Jesus_, I don't know."

She smiled. "I meant about getting home."

"Oh." He felt his face get redder. "I'll-I'll call a cab."

"I had a nice time," she said as they left. She made an effort to face him. The wheels creaked a little on the sidewalk and he felt himself getting teary. "Take care of yourself, Will."

"Makes it sound like you're leaving," said Will, stuffing his hands in his pockets. She didn't say anything. "You-You're not, are you?"

"Not tomorrow," she said. "I feel like I need to get away. Being here just reminds me of everything."

"No, Alana, please don't leave." His voice was whiny and he wasn't sure that it was his. "Please. Please don't leave."

"I'm sorry, Will." She turned away from him. "We'll keep in touch."

He moved in front of her. "Alana, please."

"I'm not leaving for a few days, at least," she said, trying to laugh.

"No, don't leave at all. We can-things will be different, I can-things-"

"Will, you've had too much to drink."

"No," he said, and his voice faltered. "No, I-"

The cab was rolling up.

"Don't move Alana. You can get over it. People do all the time."

"Goodnight, Will." Her voice was placid and he couldn't read her face. "I'll call you in the morning."

"O-Okay." Will stepped aside. "Think about it. Think about it, okay? Don't just-don't leave."

He stumbled into the cab and watched her watch him leave. He couldn't remember his address so he was driven around until he finally found it. He gave the driver a large tip. There were no bills left in his wallet.

He fell asleep on the couch and when he woke up in the morning, after he finally found an aspirin in his bathroom cabinet, he called Alana and apologized for the previous night, the way he felt all too familiar.

"It's alright, Will," she said.

"Do you know yet when you're moving?"

He heard a long, slow sigh. "I'm not sure. I don't want to leave Virginia, Will, but I-" she paused. "I might just leave town. I might not leave at all. Everything feels so up in the air."

"I mean, if you want to stay," Will started, "there's enough to keep things grounded."

"You don't seem to be very grounded, Will. You seem as confused as everything else."

"I'm not a good example." He felt himself shrinking.

"I'm sorry, Will. I'm not making any decisions yet."

"K-Keep me posted?" He sounded so meek, he thought.

"Of course."


	9. Saepīre

"I need coping skills," Will said to Dr. DuMaurier the following morning. "I have none."

"With what are you coping?"

"Nerves," he said after a moment. "I get nervous."

They went through the most basic of CBT techniques and she said they could get to the root of the problem when he was more comfortable.

Will didn't have breakfast and he went to the store later even though the crowds of people made him feel like he was suffocating.

After that the afternoon was clear. He thought briefly of repaying Margot's kindness, going up to Mason and threatening him a little, but he didn't have the energy; nor did he have the energy to arrange a meeting with Crawford or even talk with him over the phone.

"All I want to do is sleep," he told DuMaurier later that evening.

"How is the quality of your sleep?"

"Probably sleeping 12 hours a day," he said, "waking up ever hour or so."

"Are you on any sort of schedule?"

"No."

She spoke to him about the importance of maintaining a regular sleep schedule; something about nocturnal circadian something. He was distracted by his dogs' whining as a car drove by.

Suddenly his chest tightened and adrenaline coursed through him, making his hands shake, and he sat down on the couch.

"Was–is–is–is that–"

He heard that rich, heavy voice briefly-overheard a word or two-but he knew without a doubt to whom it belonged. The hairs on his neck rose.

"I think-" his own voice was so quiet "-I think-I heard-Hannibal?"

"Now?"

The room was spinning now and he couldn't get air in fast enough. He choked out a 'yes.'

There was a pause on Bedelia's end.

"I wouldn't worry about schizophrenia," she said after a long moment. "Sometimes when the brain is on high alert it becomes oversensitive. Any noise might be a threat.

"It's normal to interpret that which once threatened you as a threat.

"Poor sleep can also make the brain play tricks on you." She paused again. "Would you like me to write you a prescription for a soporific?"

"A-?"

"Sleeping pill."

"Oh," he said. He was still shaking. "No. No thanks."

He couldn't sleep at all that night. He lay in bed until noon. Hearing Hannibal's voice had scared him more than anything else so he collected himself and called Jack.

"Will?"

"Hey," he said. His voice was squeaky and he felt awkward. "When did you get out?"

"Monday," came the reply. "We need to talk in person, Will."

"Sure," he said.

"I'll come over," said Jack.

In about an hour his black car rolled into the driveway. Will held the dogs back and Jack grinned at him. He had a bandage on his neck but looked very good otherwise, far better than he or Alana.

"Hello Will."

They sat on his couch after he got them some water.

"I like what you've done with the place."

"Yeah?" Will's throat was dry. He sipped the water slowly.

"How have you been, Will?"

"I'm okay," he said. "Alana said you were going back to work soon?"

Jack nodded. "But there's a lot of red tape. A lot of reviews, hearings. It'll be a while before I'm back in the field.

"What about you?"

"I'm not going back in the field, Jack," Will said, not meeting his eyes.

"What'll you do?"

He shrugged. "I might help Margot Verger. I'm not doing much of anything now."

"You don't _have_ to go back to the field, Will."

"I don't want anything to do with it, Jack," he said.

"I want to catch him," Jack said, eyes insistent.

"Find somebody who does, then," said Will. "I-I don't *care*."

"You don't want to talk with him, Will? Ask what was going through his mind when-"

"No."

Jack invited him to lunch so they went to a burger joint. He picked up the tab, which was great because it saved Will the embarrassment of admitting he had no money. During lunch Jack asked him about innocent things-what he had been doing and do on-and was pleasant. Will was afraid to ask about him or his wife because he wasn't sure if she was alive, or if he knew either, so he kept quiet and tried not to think so much.

"Think about what I said, Will," Jack said as they were leaving.

"Jack, I-I'm not-"

"Just think about it."

Will was in a bad mood when he returned home. Margot called him and invited him to her home for dinner. Mason, she assured him, would not be there.

He stuck with water at dinner and the chefs prepared all sorts of redolent foods, although the way the dishes were brought out-carried carefully with airs of pride in the work-made him think of Hannibal, so he was not very hungry. He picked at his plate while Margot discussed the business. She put her words into action and he found that admirable; she had already rented a set of properties not too far from the mansion, and was working out a plan to here and train recruiters who would, in turn, look for divisional employees.

"And I can find something for you," she said.

He nodded. After dinner and a cup of coffee he went home; the dogs were happy to see him.


	10. Deligere

Margot must have been having problems with Judy, thought Will. She was tied up with something for a few days and during that time, without anyone to remind him of life apart form his, Will collapsed into himself, consequences were gone, and he did nothing but lay and ruminate, the latter fueled by the copious consumption of the drinks he had purchased days prior.

Time was now abstract and nebulous, so he unknowingly missed 2 of his nightly phonecalls with DuMaurier in a row. The second time she called without an answer she left a message. The third time she began to be concerned. The fourth time she called he answered. He was coherent enough. It took him a moment before it dawned on him why she was calling in the day time.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot all about-I don't even know what time it is."

"Where have you been, Mr. Graham?"

"You can call me Will," he said, and paused. "Sleeping."

They spoke for an hour but later Will could barely remember what was said. He remembered mentioning Hannibal, and that was it. He tried not to think about it.

By the following day all the bottles in his fridge were empty. He had no energy left and relegated himself to the couch, drifting in and out of awareness until the dogs licked his face: someone was at the door.

It was Margot. She looked concerned. They sat beside each other on the couch.

"What have you been up to?" said Will, running a hand through his tousled hair.

Margot shook her head. "Mason."

"Did he-" Will bit his lip.

"He has new lawyers, now," she said evenly. "I'll have to hire some of my own." There was silence. "He doesn't care much about the company. He sees it makes me happy and he wants to take it away."

Will felt sick. "I-I know some lawyers."

"Don't concern yourself with that," she said, "or Mason. I'd prefer if you didn't."

"I want to help."

She turned to him and smiled, and he felt a warmth inside him that he hadn't felt in days. "I'm worried about you, Will. If you want to help me, help yourself."

"Help...I'm fine, Margot. I'm doing fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Well," began Will, catching a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror behind him and quickly looking away, "Well, I am."

"I can tell you've been drinking, Will," she said, looking at him until he looked away. "Have you always been drinking this much?"

"If I said yes would that change anything?" He smiled to the floor. "It's a recent development."

"You need something to do," she said. "Get dressed and come to my place."

It took a long time for him to dress. He would pause every few seconds and recall bits of memory, sequencing the events from the past year, tracing the places he had been up to this point, amazed and astounded at where he was now.

When he got to Margot's they went horse riding. The field was large and lush and the cool rush of wind and scent of grass blades absorbed him and with his mind focused on handling the reigns he did not think of anything else.

Margot was in front of him on her black horse, and he followed her for at least an hour; then he followed her back to the stables.

"Like I said before," she said, "feel free to ride anytime."

He nodded. "I will."

They went inside and had some water, then she invited him to stay for dinner. After they ate she wrote down an address on a piece of paper and gave it to him.

"Go there tomorrow at noon. I want to show you."


	11. Ambire

Will overslept and it was nearly two by the time he found that slip of paper and drove himself to its address. He hadn't been to the city in what seemed like years. The buildings were tall with broad windows that glistened in the sunlight. He found his sunglasses in the car compartment and put them on before getting out.

The buildings were identical and he couldn't tell which number belonged to which building. He should've called Margot.

He took a deep breath and went into the building and up a flight of stairs. Immediately there was a desk in front of him with a receptionist sitting there.

"Can I help you?"

"Uh-"

Ambient blue and red lighting emanated from fixtures hung at opposite corners of the room, which contained several veiled cubicles. Behind the desk was a banner that read 'Verger Industries.'

He breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm-I'm looking for Margot."

"Ms. Verger?"

He nodded.

"Are you-" The woman giggled. "Are you her-"

"Will!"

Margot appeared and walked over to him. "Cynthia, this is Will Graham."

"Oh, this is Mr. Graham."

"Sorry I'm late," he mumbled in Margot's direction.

"It's fine," she said. "I figured you'd overslept."

He felt his cheeks redden.

"Come here."

He followed Margot past a series of people and desks to an empty one further from the rest, next to a window.

"Did you do all this in a week?"

"It's been almost three weeks, Will."

He took his hands out of his pockets. "That's...still impressive."

Margot gestured to the mahogany desk. "This can be yours if you want." She looked out the window and down to the moving traffic below. "It has a nice view. It's fairly quiet."

"What, uh, what would I do?"

She explained his options to him, but he was distracted by the strident blaring of the ambulance that seeped into his ears. It sounded far away. He wondered if it was a bad accident, if those involved were safe, if there was blood. He felt his stomach tighten and he could see it now: liquid oozing and seeping from the walls.

"Will?"

He blinked and it was gone. There was a hand on his shoulder.

"Will, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, shaking his head. "I'd-I'd love the job."

"Really?"

He nodded.

"You can start as soon as tomorrow, if you'd like."

He nodded again. Margot invited him to an early lunch, but he declined and went home and tried to sleep. He did not talk to DuMaurier that evening.


	12. Cōnfūtāre

Will didn't drink anything, and he blamed that on his nervousness the following morning. Cynthia waved to him when he entered and Margot was there at his desk. She explained the day's duties to him and left him be. He did not eat lunch and did not speak to anyone besides Margot.

The next day was a repeat of the first. On the third day, while he was speaking with Margot, that high siren whine invaded his ears and he cringed.

"Christ, it's like there's an accident every minute."

Margot's lips were parted as she looked at him, then her eyes drifted to the window. "The ambulance?" She smirked. "I hardly even notice it anymore."

During lunch, she brought him a pair of earphones.

"Don't you have something to eat?"

"I-I wasn't hungry today," he mumbled. He was feeling fidgety and hot.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine."

She let him be.

On the morning of the fourth day, he quickly put together a sandwich and stuffed it into a paper bag. During lunch, Cynthia sat across from him. She was a beautiful girl, with sparkling eyes and an angular face. He had not noticed before, but he had not noticed much of anything.

"Hi, Mr. Graham."

Her giggle was infectious. She couldn't be older than 22.

"You can call me Will," he said, unable to meet her eyes.

"So..."  
The syllable left her mouth leisurely. He saw her grey eyes searching.

"How do you know Margot?" he asked. It was their only commonality.

"Luck," she chirped. "A few years ago, we were in line somewhere and she chatted me up. I was in New York, then."

She was eating a sandwich that looked similar to his own. She dangled it in her hand. "Then I move here and it turns out she's here too. Small world."

She smiled and he smiled at her.

"What about you?" she said.

He could hardly remember. He closed his eyes for a moment and saw those dark eyes looking at him. "We, uh, we had the same-" he paused "-doctor. Happened to run into each other."

"Luck." She grinned at him.

If only, he thought, it had been.

The next day she sat across from him again, and she ate with him every day for two weeks.

"Do you have pets, Will?"

He smiled. "Dogs."

"There's some hair-on your collar-"

She reached over the table; he tensed when her fingertips grazed his covered clavicle.

"How many dogs?"

He told her after counting them all in his head.

"So you collect strays," she said. "How sweet."

He shrugged and bit into his sandwich.

"This might sound like a weird question," she began, her voice high and nervous, "but, are you single?"

"Not at the moment," he said instantly, then furrowed his brow at himself. "Uh-she's not here."

"Long distance relationships are the worst," she said with a nervous laugh.

Fear had welled up in his stomach and he let it out with a long sigh.

"Yeah."

He felt strange for the rest of the day. When he got home, he called DuMaurier but she did not answer. He clenched his fists and sat down, his breaths heavy. An hour later the phone rang, and he answered it expectantly. It wasn't DuMaurier.

"Will?"

It was Jack.

Will's voice was harsher than he meant for it to be. "What do you want?"

"Alana's in the hospital."

Will felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He let out a gasping 'oh.' "What-What happened?"

"I'm not sure," said Jack. His voice was deflated. "I just wanted to let you know in case you didn't already."

"Is she-"

"I don't know the details, Will, but I'm sure it's related to Hannibal."

Was he tormenting her? Was it delusion? Did he reach out to her? Or was there some accident?

"He's a sick bastard, Will."

"Is-Is she taking visitors?" he asked, knowing he could never get up the nerve to see her.

"I don't think so," Jack said.

There was a long silence and Will had the inclination to hang up the phone.

"It makes me want to catch him even more." Jack's voice was low and excited.

Will hung up the phone and felt the panic grip him. He tried to remember to breathe, but his mind and body were on fire and everything burned. He thought he was going to die. Eventually the feeling left him.

The night was a blur. There was some wine in the fridge. He went to get more-something stronger-and returned. He was terribly hungover in the morning and drank to get rid of the headache. He wasn't thinking clearly and drove to the office in a daze. Cynthia waved at him like she always did, and he tried to smile back and made a crooked beeline for his desk. He tried to work. He was dizzy and could hardly make out the papers in front of him. The lights spun around and made him feel sick. Eventually he rested his head on the cool desk, sheltered by his arms. The contents of his stomach roiled and he felt as though he was melting into the desk and he wished he was a puddle. His cheek stuck to the surface and he felt completely aware of it. He sat there trying not to think but his mind kept moving and its pace made him feel dizzier and sicker. He wished for unconsciousness.

There was a gentle hand on the small of his back, rubbing it in small circles.

"Let's get out of here. Take an early lunch."

He looked up. He must have looked horrible, he thought. Cynthia was beaming at him. He left with her.

She had a nice, expensive-looking car and she helped him into it. He closed his eyes and leaned against the passenger's seat. She asked for his address and he gave it to her; as she spoke to him on the way there, he found himself nearly unable to respond.

"It's like you're a puppy," she mused. "I just want to take care of you."

He heard a laugh that sounded much like his own.

"Are you sure there's nothing going on between you and Margot?"

"Me and-?" He laughed until he was gasping for air. "Oh, _no_, no."

"It seems like you two are close." He could hear her smile.

"Sure," he said, "not-not _that_." He opened his eyes and through his blurry vision he saw her face; she was always smiling, he thought.

They were five minutes from his house, now.

"So, Will," she said, and he closed his eyes again, "how'd you get like this?"

"Like this?" he repeated. "Dunno." His mind was cloudy. "It just happened."

She laughed and he laughed with her.

When they reached his house she helped him inside and sat beside him on the couch. Her hand was on his chest and she was close.

"You seem like such a nice guy," she said.

"Seem?"

She giggled and pressed her body against his. She smelled like flowers and felt like heaven. His mind raced, trying to sort out his own confusion. His thoughts quieted when there was something on his lips. He realized it was her. His arms fumbled and he loosely gripped her shoulders. She persisted. He recoiled.

"What-What're you doing?"

"Kissing you, silly."

"Stop."

She bit his lip and he moaned.

"If you're worried about your girlfriend finding out, she won't," she said, and shushed him. He couldn't remember how to speak.

Somehow they ended up in his bedroom and he made sure the lights were off. He didn't want her to see his scars.

Will fell asleep not long after she left. When he awoke he felt angry and disgusted. He went back to sleep.


	13. Defluere

Will's car was still at the office, so later he called a cab and drove out and drove it home. Margot's car was still there; he hoped she didn't see him.

The following morning Will knew he had to go to work, but thinking about it filled him with dread. Margot probably noticed that he left and would want to know why. He could say he was sick; he certainly felt like it. Then he thought about Cynthia, and he felt like he was choking. His father had, some number of years ago, given him an old, rusty flask that Will vaguely recalled stuffing into a box weeks ago. He found it after fifteen minutes of looking. He drank from the bottle on the counter and went to work.

He felt relieved when he saw that Cynthia wasn't there, and he didn't see Margot either. He was able to relax after settling in, but he started to feel sick after being there about an hour. For the next hour he wrote on the papers in front of him, taking occasional sips from the flask; he was the only one in the back of the office and saw no need to conceal it.

Sometime later Margot ambushed him.

"What are you doing?"

Will stuffed the flask into the desk drawer. "Noth-working."

Margot walked up to him and leaned on the desk. "Will. This is not acceptable. Not in the least."

"I, uh, I'm-what-what I-"

His thoughts were slow and unclear, and he could barely understand himself. Margot's face was now mere inches from his.

"You've barely been here a month, Will. If this was anyone else-"

She shook her head. "I should fire you."

"No. It's-It's not," he spluttered, "-not what it looks like."

She sighed and narrowed her eyes at him. "Will."

"I can't," he began, "I mean, where else-?"

He shook his head and it made him dizzy. Then his throat burned and Margot said his name and there was vomit on her jacket.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Words tumbled out of his mouth.

"Will-"

"I'll-I'll-I'll buy you a new jacket," he said, knowing it cost at least a month's worth of all his salaries combined.

She left, cleaned up, and came back. Will had placed his head on the desk.

"Will."

He looked up and moaned.

"Go home, Will."

He just stared at her.

"Come on."

She walked with him outside and he lay down on the soft leather seat and was quiet. Then she moved him onto his couch and went to get lunch. When she returned he was passed out. She left to work and came back at seven-thirty. Will was groggy and had a panic attack upon awakening because he couldn't remember how he got home. He smiled weakly at her when she came in the door; she had two cups of coffee and handed him one and sat down.

"Will."

The liquid was bitter and it burned his tongue.

"I thought you were doing better."

He tensed at the implication. "You-You're suggesting I have a problem?"

"Will."

Her eyes were hard and stiff. He sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said. He did not look at her.

"You're going to lose your job."

"I don't get a second chance?" he asked meekly.

"You already got one."

How did she, he thought, know about yesterday?

"Fair enough."

"What'll you do now, Will?" she pressed.

"I don't know."

His mind raced: he couldn't work for the FBI anymore; he had no marketable skills; he concluded he was hopeless.

"I don't know," he repeated.

He thought, then, of Mason Verger's offer to him. He would rather die than consider the possibility of seeing Hannibal again. The thought of death in and of itself was appealing, actually. He took another sip of the coffee.

"I'll keep it for you if you get help. I don't want you coming back until you've got things sorted out."

"Help," he repeated. "What kind of help?"

"Counseling."

"I'm in therapy," he said, even though he could not remember the last time he talked to DuMaurier.

She pulled out a card from her purse and handed it to him.

"I stopped by on the way here. They seem harmless."

Will put it down.

"AA?" he said. "No."

"Yes, Will."

He shook his head. "This is for people who have been alcoholics for years. I-I had _two_ slip ups."

He didn't look at her.

"If you don't go-"

"Fine, I'll be jobless," he said, his face hot. "I'll find something to do."

"If you don't go I'm going to report you to the police."

His chest tightened. "For-For what?"

"Driving under the influence. Public intoxication. Public indecency-"

"You can't-"

"They'll believe me because-" she inhaled sharply "-Mason has ties with the chief."

Things were getting blurry. Will tried to gain control of his erratic breaths. "Are-are you threatening me?"

Margot nodded. She got up and sat beside him.

"They meet on Thursdays. There's a woman there, Janet, who you can talk to. She knows what you look like."

He groaned. She rubbed his shoulders and left. He had nightmares later.


	14. Orīrī

A/N: I apologize for the length between chapters. They should be uploaded more regularly now.

* * *

When he woke up the first thing Will thought of was Alana, but he was afraid to call Jack. He would see her again eventually, he told himself. He would love to see her smile now.

He had a headache, drank, and spent the day sleeping, except for a brief phonecall with DuMaurier in which they reviewed the old calming techniques to which Will had not paid attention.

He took a shower on Wednesday, then spent the day, half-dressed, in bed. He got up once to feed the dogs. On Thursday, he woke up at noon, mostly sober. The meeting was at five. He had a few drinks before he left, to calm his nerves.

The shakes stopped by the time he arrived. The meeting took place in an old church's rec. room. He hadn't been to a church since he was a kid.

The people there were all dressed in bright, colorful clothing; he felt like an outlier. He sat in the back row. The room filled up quickly; the buzz of the strangers' chatter made his head spin. He got up and retrieved a bible from the back table, and pretended to be engrossed in scripture; no one approached him. The entire room was filled when the meeting began; the room became hushed when a bald man, dressed in black, went to the front of the room and cleared his throat behind a podium.

"Good evening, everyone, and welcome."

Will did not pay attention to what else was said, and left promptly.

Margot called him soon after he got back.

"How was it?"

"Fine," Will answered after a moment's thought.

"Fine. Really?" Her voice was doubtful.

"Uh, yeah." Will poured himself a drink and sat on the couch.

"What happened?"

"Testimonials, that was it."

"Did you learn anything?"

"Sure."

"Did you actually go, Will?"

"Yes," he said insistently. "I'll even go next week."

"I think you're lying."

Will noticed something different in Margot's voice.

"What about you?" he said.

"Don't change the subject."

"I did go, Margot," he said, "but I-I didn't pay much attention."

"You'll go next week?"

"Yes," Will sighed.

Margot did not tell him anything about herself and he wondered if Mason had something to do with it; but he did not want to go down there and see either one of them.

His thoughts drifted to Alana. He wondered if she was still in the hospital. He got himself another drink. She had seemed relatively peaceful the last time they talked, but perhaps her feelings were just as transient as his, or perhaps he was wrong. His ability to read others had been diminishing ever since he returned home from the hospital, or maybe before that. He got another drink. He could try calling her, or the hospital. He decided against it.

The rest of the week was a blur. He spoke with Margot a few times, and DuMaurier once. He drove to the church on Thursday and attempted to pay more attention to the speakers. As the first speaker was exiting the stage a woman wearing sunglasses entered into the room and sat beside Will. She smiled at him. He smiled back. He paid more attention to her than to the person onstage. She looked to be slightly older than him; she had very slight lines on her face, and probably circles under her eyes. Her hair was short and black. She wore dark lipstick and when she wasn't smiling appeared to be frowning. He wondered what her voice sounded like. When everyone started to leave he nodded to her and got in line for a cup of watery coffee. The woman who had sat beside him was now standing beside him.

Will stood there awkwardly with his coffee cup; his mind was painfully slow and what thoughts did come up were entirely nonsensical. Finally the woman stuck out her hand.

"Hi," she said with a small smile, "I'm Molly."

"Molly..."

"Just Molly."

"I'm Will," he said jerkily, trying desperately to sound pleasant.

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

She looked at him for a long time before letting go. He got the feeling she was one of those more perceptive people-not like him, of course, but moreso than average. He wondered why, but knew it wasn't appropriate to ask.

"So what are you here for?" He shook his head. "Sorry. Stupid question."

"No, no," she said. "I'm, uh, I'm a nurse at Baltimore State Hospital-it's about thirty minutes north of here."

"Oh, yeah, I've seen it," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He did not recall seeing her there, so either she was new or she hadn't worked where he was.

"So, I'm here to learn," she concluded. "You?"

"Um. Same reason," he said. "I mean, I have a friend who..."

She nodded knowingly and he wondered how obvious the lie was. She was polite and did not call him out; he glanced over at the door and back at her. She was very beautiful when she smiled and he wondered if she was disingenuous; she didn't seem to be, but something in his gut told him otherwise. Of course, he could hardly trust himself these days.

He took his hand out of his left pocket and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He felt very hot.

"Nice meeting you," he said, "but I have to, uh..."

He jerked his head toward the door.

"Will you be coming back?"

He guessed he was. "Sure. I'll see you later. Next week."

"I'll see you then," she said with a smile.

He smiled back and sat in his car awhile before leaving.


End file.
